


I'll Pretend My Ship's Not Sinking

by notthebigspoon



Series: Burn It To The Ground splinters [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has seen mirages, and he has seen walkers, and he has seen desperate men. This looks like the third.</p><p>    Title taken from The King of Wishful Thinking by Go West.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Pretend My Ship's Not Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> This is a splinter off the Burn It To The Ground verse. It was done for pure self indulgence and whump. Can't say that I won't expand it but for now, it's not necessarily part of that verse's canon. Just a bit of fun.

Tim doesn't recognize the guy... not straight off. It's too far of a distance and the man staggering like a walker does. He's alone, just staggering down the stretch of open six lane highway. He stops, drawing himself up straight and staring at the convoy of vehicles that fans out and stops twenty yards from him. He's about as clean as can be passed for these days and it's obvious that he hasn't enough to eat or drink lately. One hand raises in the air, showing a (very large) hand gun before lowering his arms to his side.

The walkie-talkies that Tim and Glenn had scavenged from a half-empty Wal-Mart a few towns back crackle to life, Daryl's voice ringing through.

“Well.. he ain't a walker, unless any y'all have ever seen one with the sense of mind to arm itself.” He drawls, a few words drowned out by a snort of laughter from Bumgarner, who's started riding with Daryl, which Tim still finds hilarious. “Still... any ideas?”

Rick, predictably, is the first to respond. “We should drive on. What if it's an ambush? They could have marksmen, this could be a turkey shoot waiting to happen.”

Tim listens to the back and forth, squinting at the man in the road. He looks like exhausted and god knows it's hot out there, but seems patient enough. Watching and waiting, chin held high with a thousand yard stare aimed right at Buster's SUV. Buster is chiming in when there's a split second in the walkie-talkie conversation, and the twins are burbling happily in the back seat but it's all fading into a blur.

Because he knows that face... it's dirty, there's a hat hiding it and there's a scar across the jaw that wasn't there before. But he knows it all the same and he's yanking the door open, shooting across the pavement, feet pounding. He can vaguely hear shouts, other car doors, but he doesn't let it stop him. The man looks up and barely raises his gun before it clatters to the pavement. Someone screams, “DAMN IT TIMMY!” It doesn't matter. Because he's colliding chest first into Yadier Molina, winding the both of them, and yeah, he's going to pretend that's why his eyes are watering.

They were never close, casual friends due to their mutual love of one Pablo Sandoval, but these days finding an old friend of any sort is like striking gold. Tim can't make himself let go and Molina actually lets out a choked sob followed by a cascade of Spanish that Tim can't really follow. The only thing he can understand is 'thank God' and he echoes the sentiment. Tim doesn't let go until he hears Daryl speak.

“You that hard up for tail, Tim?”

There's a bark of laughter and Tim finally turns Molina loose, stepping back and coughing before flipping Daryl off. Only Daryl, Buster, Madison, Rick and T-Dog followed. The others are out but guarding the caravan. He has to take a deep breath and scrub his face hard with his hands before he can finally talk.

“This is Yadier Molina. We were... me, him, Posey and Bum used to work together, sort of. He was married to a really good friend of mine. One of my best friends.”

“You mean he fucking married the Panda and nobody ever told me?” Buster explodes, hands up in the air.

Madison glares. “Really? That's what you're going to focus on?”

A throat clears, and their attention whips back around to Molina, who shifts on his feet. In spite of the fact that he'd only seconds ago been clinging to Tim, he won't look anyone in the eye anymore. “It was not very long. In New York, before spring training. I take it he was not with you when it happened.”

Tim shakes his head, letting out a whoosh of breath. “The last I heard from him was two weeks or so after Day Zero. He was with Sanchez, Pagan and Cabrera somewhere in Nevada. Then the phones went out. They said they were headed our way but... well, these days...”

“These days, you do not make plans. You fight or you die. Most people die.” Molina sighs, stretching and shaking. There's a sad smile on his face, the kind that says he's made peace with the pain in his life. “The Cards... I don't know who all, but so many.”

Everyone's silent, reflecting on their own losses, before Grimes speaks. Tim's not really paying attention to him, the basic gist of it that if they can vouch for him, he's welcome but he has to pull his own weight, etc. Nobody's listening to him really, just filtering back to their own vehicles. Tim gestures Molina into the passenger seat of the SUV and takes the keys from Buster. They fall to the back of the convoy, let the others lead the way. Molina slumps against the window, barely taking the time to scan his surroundings before falling asleep curled in on himself.

Buster, sitting between the twins in the back seat, meets Tim's gaze in the rear view mirror and just looks away.


End file.
